


under a new moon

by lusterrdust



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Angst, Family Secrets, Feels, Grief/Mourning, Heartache, Hurt/Comfort, Lighthouses, Little Mermaid Elements, Multi, Ocean, Sirens, Slow Build, Slow Burn, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-12-31 14:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12134046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusterrdust/pseuds/lusterrdust
Summary: He's anchored by grief. She's reaching for hope.▱◯♕Jughead Jones moves to a small town named Madbay Port to escape the plagues of his past. He lives a quiet life, finding contentedness in his solitude while wading in a pool of inner demons. There's an influx of tourist attraction when sightings of mermaids in the port begin to spread along the East Coast. He wants to scoff at the absurdity of it all. He doesn't, however, expect to come face to face with the urban legend itself. Literally. [bughead, au]DISCONTINUED





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd - loosely based on Little Mermaid themes
> 
> Madbay Port is fictional. I'm too lazy to research actual places, so let's just give me a pass and call it creative liberty.

> ▱◯♕

He hadn’t thought much of Port Madbay when he’d moved there eight months prior. No, Jughead Jones had wanted to find the most recluse place near the ocean’s edge and be done with his life in Hollywood. He’d picked the smallest town on the other side of the country, and prayed for anonymity.

It wasn’t as if he was a big celebrity – just a struggling author who’d managed to write a one hit wonder until he’d been desperate enough for money to option his book for a Motion Picture. He hadn’t wanted to have his work exploited in Hollywood’s greedy industry, but he’d promised his mom that he’d take care of his sister one day if anything ever happened to her.

He just hadn’t expected that day to come so soon.

It was stage four breast cancer that took her in the end, and god help him he had believed there couldn’t be a lower feeling in the world than in that time. It was only two months later that he’d been proven wrong, and his father would be arrested for setting their departed mother’s pottery shop on fire.

Jughead had sat in court every day for those four months, clenching his fists at the unfairness of it all. _He did it to pay for funeral and medical bills!_ He’d wanted to scream at the mousy faced looking judge. They _needed_ the money, goddammit! But the insurance company had claimed it unlawful… as if their billion dollar company couldn’t afford to turn a blind eye to a desperate family just trying to survive in any way they could.

Aggravated Arson in the First Degree. Ten years.

Being a fresh faced twenty-year-old with a ten-year-old to look after, Jughead had been borderline desperate for work. Beg on your knees type of desperate. He worked at a fast food joint for a brief time while his agent handled the legalities of his book turned movie. Capping two-hundred and fifty-thousand dollars for the forty mill budget project was his saving grace, despite his self loathing for selling out. It hadn’t mattered at the time though, as long as Jellybean could live comfortably, he couldn’t find it in himself to have regrets. They lived frugally for three years in a small two-bedroom apartment, and as his work’s movie adaptation rendered prominent success, so did his means to create more content.

But nothing much came from it. Not when…

“Fuck!”

A buzzer surprises Jughead as he’d been ready to pour himself some tea, and the cast iron tea kettle in his grip falls onto the hardwood floors beneath him with a loud _clunk._ His palm burns with an intensity that has him swear again under his breath before he rushes to place it under the tap. His dog, Hot Dog, stares at him with a slow wagging tail from his laid position near the spiral staircase of their home.

Great, he thinks to himself, another injury added to his list of accidents in the week. His foot throbs at the mere remembrance of slicing it against the sharp-edged rocks curving around and underneath the tide that lead into a small ocean’s cave near his home from the day prior.

“Yeah,” he glares at Hot Dog, “laugh it up, buddy.”

Hot Dog gives a low whine and rolls over in his bed.

Grabbing a towel off the dingy mustard yellow oven nearby, Jughead throws it to the ground and mops up the boiling liquid that had sloshed out at his carelessness. The ingredients to his half prepared sandwich lay open over his countertop messily when another loud buzz from downstairs grabs his attention once more.

Frowning, Jughead grabs a paper towel and wets it before wrapping it around his hand and making his way downstairs. He ignores the throbbing sting in his hand as a glimpse of red hair appears through the glass window of his dutch front door and pushes the sign obscuring its view away before opening the top part of it.

There’s an older looking couple standing on his porch and they smile at him. “Uh, can I help you?”

“Good mornin’!” The elder stoutly looking man says brightly, reaching up to fiddle with the beret over his head. “Are you open?”

Jughead glances to the _closed_ sign still hanging over the window and then looks back to them with a blank stare. “We’re closed on Sundays.”

“Oh, yes, o’course!” The man laughs, “We’re a couple of religious folks ourselves, me missus and I. Obeyin’ t’Lord’s commandments about t’Sabbath is important, innit, Molly?”

He turns to his wife who smiles affectionately. Without waiting for a response, he continues. “O’Reilly said he spruced up t’Church last month! Not sure how it looked b’fore, us bein’ new to t’town ‘nd all, but everyt’ing else is beautiful, just like home, right, Molly? Oh, yes, ‘n we figured a bit o’ explorin’ would lift our moods right up, didn’t we, Molly? After all, these legs ain’t what they used t’ be.” He laughs jovially at his own comment, and Jughead blinks in unsurity in how to respond to his joyful demeanor.  

Jughead knows of the old Irish Pastor he’d mentioned in the Port town some few miles drive away, but he knows nothing about his church or the sabbath. He doesn’t tell the man he doesn’t attend. “Riiight.” Jughead refrains from frowning in awkward impatience. “I’m sorry, but we’re still closed.”

“Come on, Harold.” The woman places her hand over her husband’s arm. “We’ll come back this week. Sorry for disturbing you, dear.”

The man looks crestfallen, but nods anyway, offering a friendly smile. “Okay, right. Well, t’was worth a try! Me missus and I heard not’in’ but good t’ings about this place. Said there were lucky shells sold here, and the missus and I could use a bit o’ luck, innat right, Molly? Well, we won’t be troublin’ ya for longer, son. You have a blessed day now.” He tips his hat like an old gentleman and walks away with one hand on his wife’s arm and the other on a wooden cane.

Groaning at the niggle of guilt for turning such nice old people away, Jughead sighs and unlocks the bottom door to swing it open quickly before he can change his mind. “Wait,” he calls out, stopping them both as they turn expectantly. Jughead gestures them in, earning a beaming pair of smiles in return. “Since you’re new in town… Come on in.”

“Oh, y’hear tat Molly? We’re gettin’ the VIP treatment!” He laughs, hobbling over on his cane and passing through the door with a wide grin. “Lookit tat, will you, Molly! It really is a little shop inside a lighthouse! ‘N so quaint!”

Jughead walks to the spiral staircase near the small counter holding the register and clips the chains holding the _do no enter_ sign in place. Rubbing his eyes, he limps over to the counter and leans forward, taking pressure off his injured foot as he watches the couple look through the small oak shelves holding an array of ‘ _souvenirs’_ most tourists that pass through love to stock up on.

“Lookit tat, Molly! _Siren Shells_!”

“That’s what Madame O’Dell was talking about.” The old woman nods, tracing a finger over the bag of spiraled sea shells.

Cricket O’Dell, Jughead nearly snorts at the mention of their town’s Selectmen, or rather, _Selectwoman_. He thinks of her keen nose for money and near genius marketing in creating an urban legend about the town’s sightings for mermaids to reel in more tourist traffic.

 _Mad_ bay, indeed.

Still, he can’t complain. Gullible tourists and loyal locals love to hear about the multiple “sightings” of the mythical creatures, and they’ll pay whatever to have a piece of it for their homes and families.

The _Siren Shell_ s are his best selling pieces. A bag of seashells slapped with a whopping price of $22.50, Jughead wonders if people should consider him a con artist.

He’d discovered a small cave just four miles away from his home containing a spot that the beautiful shells just wash up in heaps, all of them fully intact and unbroken. He hadn’t expected Cricket to buy a jar of them to display at the local B&B to further push the mermaid bit.

A small notecard claiming Madbay’s Siren Shells garnered one of the B&B’s customers enough luck to spot a mermaid had made front page in their dinky town’s newspaper, and the next day, his shop had begun to flourish. Soon after, a new town sign was posted.

_Madbay Port, Home of legendary Madbay’s Mermaids and renowned Deep Sea Scallops!_

Though ridiculous, Jughead can’t help but respect the woman’s hustle to keep the small town of twenty-five hundred thriving. He does sell more than just _magic_ seashells, though.

He had grown up helping his mother in her pottery shop, and after her death, he’d inherited all of the equipment that hadn’t been destroyed by the fire. He tries to keep her memory alive by picking up where she’d left off, creating arrays of dishes and vases that he employs a local artsy friend of his to paint every Friday. These items, along with a running ‘library’—of which is just a nook in his shop that has three rows of book shelves for locals to swap out whenever they please without purchasing, Jughead _definitely_ gets enough traffic to live comfortably on.

He rings the couple up when they purchase the last few bags of _Siren Shells_ and nods politely to the old man’s chatter before locking the doors back up and heading upstairs to his home. The second level of his home gives a great view of the ocean, and when the sun begins to dip low in the sky, he slides a vinyl into the lighthouse’s antique record player and flops onto the sofa.

He reaches his foot out past the sofa’s armrest to the green cage squished between it and the wall and flicks his sock covered toe over the latch to lift it open. A bright chirp chimes in over the low tunes of _Toto_ and without warning, Jughead’s vision is filled with yellow as a light pressure falls to his lips.

Hot Dog trots over, his tail wagging as he greets the small budgie now resting on Jughead’s face. “ _Kiss, kiss!”_ the bird chirps.

Jughead puckers his lips and feels a peck to his eye. “Ow! Woodstock—!”

_“Kiss, kiss!”_

“This could qualify as domestic abuse, you know.”

Another peck.

Sighing, he lifts the bird with a finger onto his shoulder as he stands and moves to finish preparing the meal he’d been interrupted with making earlier. The ham he’d left out is still sitting on the counter and he lifts the bag to his nose and sniffs, deeming it alright before resuming his sandwich making. He doesn’t try to make tea this time, but instead brews some decaf coffee. He throws a slice of meat to Hot Dog and pulls a raisin from a glass jar to give to Woodstock before settling down to eat his own meal.

He kicks a few logs into the hearth later in the night after putting his budgie back in his cage and walks up to the third floor to prepare for bed. Mondays are the dreaded days that he heads into town to restock on groceries, supplies, and necessities. It’s also the day he wakes up early to collect shells from the small cave to clean and prepare for sale when his shop reopens on Tuesday.

After a shower, he wraps his foot up, staring at the long strip of sliced flesh with morbid fascination, and kicks a log into his bedroom hearth before pushing the curtains to his window back to reveal a black sky painted with shining pearls of light. His life here in Madbay is a calm one. He doesn’t miss the smog or bustle of California. Not one bit. In the eight months since his arrival, he’s managed to lead a quiet life—and that’s just fine with him. He prefers his solitude. He deserves the loneliness that follows.

He opens the top drawer to his desk and pauses at the sight of a thick manuscript before pushing it away to find his notepad. He shuts it a bit too aggressively before jotting down materials he needs for town until deciding it’s time to turn in for the night. Hot Dog sprawls out beside him on his creaky old bed, annoyingly taking half it, and Jughead scratches his ear before pushing his beanie off and tossing it across the floor.

Another uneventful day.

A photograph sits propped against the lamp on his bedside table, and Jughead turns his gaze, wondering why he’d brought it out that morning at all to begin with. Maybe as a form of penance, to remind him of his mistakes—to remind him of his grief, to make sure he never forgets the reason _she_ isn’t here.

She'd looked so happy. Her long braid – _one he’d attempted for three years to perfect_ – hung over her shoulder as her face, covered in ice cream cake, was pinched in absolute mirth. Mouth wide open, and eyes clenched shut in laughter, he tries to remember what it sounded like.

It had been her thirteenth birthday, and as tradition would have, he’d pushed her face into the blue and pink frosting before they both doubled over in hysterics. He’d snapped a photo quickly and caught a single moment in time where they’d had zero worries and burdens of life hanging off their shoulders. A moment where they weren't two orphaned kids trying to wing it in their own respects. A moment where it was just him and her, Jughead and Jellybean. Happy.

But then, the moment had passed.

Jughead opens his side table drawer roughly and throws the picture of his jovial sister in before slamming it shut with a loud snap. Rolling over to face Hot Dog, he presses his nose into soft white hair as hot tears prickle his eyes. He doesn’t _want_ to think of that day exactly one year ago, but he makes himself. He can’t forget the costs of his mistakes. He can’t forget her memory, or the way he’d failed his own dead mother’s dying plea.

 _Take care of your sister, baby_. She’d told him. _Take care of your dad._

He’d failed in every way a son and brother could.

 _I’m sorry,_ he thinks as the moonlight washes over his glistening cheeks, not really believing in a heaven but knowing if there was one, she’d be there. He hopes she can hear him there, but he’d never expect her forgiveness. _I’m sorry, Jellybean!_

He should’ve never tried to drive through that yellow light.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd 
> 
> fun fact, tonight is a new moon

 

 

> ▱◯♕

When her daughter is born, Alice Spellman knows nothing of her ancestors and the mistakes they’d made to directly affect her life. When her daughter is born, Alice Spellman knows nothing of sea gods and curses and blood sacrifices. When her daughter is born, Alice Spellman has no idea her little baby is the fourth of her bloodline, spanning four centuries, to be affected by a curse so cruel, she regrets the day she ever met Hal Cooper.

… … …

“Betty?”

It’s days like these that Betty Cooper revels in the way the sun’s warm rays kiss the apples of her cheeks and bare legs. The gravel road pricks at the soles of her feet, but she doesn’t mind it at all. The sound of her mother’s voice turns her head, and she smiles wanly.

“Sorry,” she apologizes for her distraction, slipping her sandals back on before heading into the diner where her mother works. Alice hovers, as she’d expected, but Betty waves her off with a smile, gesturing to the counter door where she needs to head behind to start her shift. “Mom, go!”

Alice frowns. “I can still take the morning off, honey—“

“No.” Betty responds adamantly as she watches her mother tie an apron over her blue waitress dress. A guilty tug of her heart thinks about all the potential her mom is wasting in this place—she thinks of the amazing job Alice had in Atlanta as a hard-hitting Journalist once upon a time when life wasn’t so… _complicated_. Her mother is a sophisticated woman stuck in a small town, living a life she has no passion for.

All because of her.

“Don’t frown, honey. You’ll get wrinkles.”

A coffee is placed down in front of her as she’s brought out of her rather somber thoughts and she gives her mother a dry look. “Hardy har.”

A few other waitresses trickle in, one of them greeting Betty fondly. “Well, hey there, cupcake!” she laughs before stepping forward to wrap her in a hug.

Betty accepts the warm embrace from her mother’s friend with a fond smile. “Hello, Bernice.”

“How did you manage to get time away from school? My daughter says her midterms are driving her nuts! But it’s so nice for you to come and visit your mama—“

“Bernice.” Her mother’s clipped voice cuts in, one hand on her waist and the other holding a coffee pot. “We need coffee filters. Go find some in the back.”

Bernice isn’t the brightest of women, but she nor Betty miss the blatant tone in her mother’s voice telling the other woman to essentially _get lost_. Bernice makes herself scare and Betty shoos her mother’s worrying glances with a wave of her hand after she orders a slice of apple pie.

Pulling a book from her bag, she runs her finger over the stiff pages and sighs at the feel of it, wondering at all the little things people in their lives take for granted. Like fresh smelling coffee, the musty smell of a good book, and feeling of dirt between your toes. As customers continue to pile in, Betty looks around and wonders how many of them take those things for granted.

As the hours trickle by and morning stretches, her mother’s short shift draws closer to an end. Betty lets her know she’ll be outside stretching her legs until she can meet her out there, but the moment she stands and turns around, her balance is wavered when colliding into something—or rather, some _one_.

“Ooph!” She stumbles back, quickly catching the book that had nearly toppled from her hand at the unexpected impact. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Excuse me.”

The young man only grunts and moves past her to order a coffee and breakfast to go, not even sparing her a glance or acknowledging her apology.

Mentally shrugging, she walks outside and stuffs her book in her bag before fingering the hem of her white sundress, lifting the material just a little to let the heat of midmorning’s sun lick at them. It’s then that something wet touches her calf and she spins around only to spot a shaggy looking dog sniffing at her.

“Why, hello there, cutie.” she beams when its tail begins to wag at her genuinely joyful greeting. She scratches his ear and crouches down as his paw moves to rest on her thigh. “Where’s your owner?”

“Betty, don’t touch it!” her mother’s voice cut through as her gaze turns up to see her walking out of the diner doors with her hands full of to-go boxes. “It could have fleas.”

Betty rolls her eyes and stands, stepping forward to help free her hands. “You do realize you worry over the smallest things, right?”

“Yeah?” Alice raises a brow, quickly grabbing hand sanitizer from her purse to give her. “Tell that to every mother.”

“Good morning, ladies!”

Betty and Alice both turn their heads to see the town Selectwoman heading toward them with a bright yellow pantsuit on and her hands full of papers. Her copper haired bob compliments the outfit nicely, Betty thinks. Her mother grumbles underneath her breath at the sight of the small woman and stuffs their boxes in a bag to carry more easily. “Jesus Ch—“

“Mom, be nice.” Betty whispers in slight amusement.

Since the recent changes to Madbay Port, such as electing a young and money loving business woman, as well as said woman’s drive in pulling in more attention to the small town, her mother has been in a constant state of dislike toward her.

“Good morning, Madam O’Dell.” Betty greets politely.

Fuchsia lips spread in a bright smile. “How are we doing today?”

“I was having a private discussion with my daughter, Cricket.” Her mother purposely ignores the woman’s question as she stands tall and eyes the woman down with the same type of look that would have any criminal in her old line of work shuffle under intimidation. “Still am, actually.”

Cricket is unfazed.

“Oh! Don’t mind me then!” she laughs mirthfully before taping one of the papers in her hand to the window of the diner. “I’ll just stick this here and carry on. Here,” she hands a paper to Betty. “If you’re in town for long, you should stop by Leroy’s and rent a boat. He’s doing the most creative thing to bring in revenue: a _thousand_ -dollar reward for anyone who catches photos of the mysterious mermaids out here!”

“What!?” Alice snatches a paper from Cricket, her eyes widening.

Betty feels her stomach drop as she reads the pamphlet.

_Looking for activities here in Madbay Port?_

_Experience life at sea and rent a boat to satisfy all your aquatic needs and desires! Starting at only $150 per day, you’ll find your vacation just got a whole lot better! And for the locals, enjoy Leroy’s 10% off special!_

_$1000 REWARD FOR ANY PHOTOGRAPHS TAKEN OF OUR MADBAY MERMAIDS!_

_Lifejackets and safety items included._

“This is ridiculous!” Alice cries out, thrusting the paper back into the Selectwoman’s grip. “There are no such things as mermaids! I can’t believe you would promote such a preposterous idea!”

Betty exhales deeply and notices her knuckles are turning white while the paper has crinkled in her grip. She relaxes her grip and swallows thickly, looking up to see her mother glaring at the young woman.

Cricket O’Dell merely laughs. “Well, of course they’re not real, Alice. But the people love it! Come on, don’t tell me you can’t admit the marketing idea isn’t genius.”

They watch her walk away, posting fliers all along the downtown street’s buildings before her mother sneers and snatches the one on the diner’s window down. “I’d like to tell her a few other things.”

“Come on,” Betty grabs her arm, determined to make the most of her day while she can. “Let’s just go.”

As the hours pass, the unsettling feeling for the local marina’s boat rentals reward dulls until it’s only an issue stored away to be dealt with at a later time. Betty walks around town with her mother, forcing the woman to treat herself to nice things and take her mind off the more stressful ones. Maybe the urge comes from her guilt. Without really meaning to, Betty wonders what type of life her family would be leading in the big city if she’d never taken a trip here during her freshman year of college.

“It’s almost evening.” She tells her mom as they finish their ice cream. Alice frowns but they both begin head down to the docks, looking at the position of the sun in the sky as it dips dangerously low toward the horizon.

Looking at her mother board _Firefly_ , the small sailboat she lives on, Betty can’t help but feel the dread begin to spread in her gut. She doesn’t want this day to end. God, does she not want it to end.

They drop all shopping bags and leftover food into the galley before heading back up to the deck in complete silence. Betty grips her arms as she stares out into the town when her mother sets sail, her jaw tightening as the buildings and trees eventually fade from view.

A slow build of panic begins to rise in her as she realizes she didn’t touch any flowers. She didn’t lay in the grass or sprint through any trails. A small sniffle distracts her from her rising fear, and she turns around. “Mom?” her voice hitches as she sees the tears on her mother’s face. She rushes to her side and throws her arms around her. “I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ …”

Her mother’s hand cradles her head, pushing strands of blonde away as she tries to compose her own emotions. “None of that.”

Betty hates that her mom lives in a tiny boat and works at a diner because of her. She hates that her mom quit her ambitions. She hates that she drove her parents to divorce. And she hates that there is literally _nothing_ she can do to change any of that.

But above everything else, she _hates_ that one trip to the beach during her freshman year of college altered the course of their lives for the absolute worst.

Her eyes linger on the Madbay’s Lighthouse some distance away until it fades from view behind a large curve of rocks in the entrance to a secluded cave. “Is it time?”

Alice looks out just as the sun begins to set and nods.

Betty embraces her one more time and kisses her damp cheek before stripping her clothes off and diving into the water.

Her tears are washed away, but not because of healing. No, they wash away because there simply is no tears to be shed underwater. There is only the ache of despair and loneliness.

Her hands wrap around her throat as she begins to choke on the water, a searing pain overtaking her legs until she’s convulsing beneath the dark waves. Eventually, the burn in her throat dies down and her fingers trace the two thin gills just behind her earlobes as breath comes once again.

A glint of color grabs her attention as she swims back up to the surface, watching her mother lean over the boat. Betty bites her lip as she holds her hand out, staying silent as Alice clasps a thin silver bracelet onto her wrist.

“To protect you until next time.” Her mother whispers, her voice heavy with emotion. Their eyes meet and Betty watches as they’re directed to the flick of her tail against the surface. “I’ll be right here again. I promise.”

Of course, Betty knows she will.

She knows her mother will be back in this same spot, because she been doing it for the past five years, devoting her life—no, _sacrificing_ her life—to be here. For her. _Because_ of her.

“I love you.” She manages to get out, watching the sky from outside the cave’s entrance darken. “I’ll see you again.”

 _I’ll see you again_ , she thinks as she swims away but lingers close to the surface to watch her mother sail back to the docks. Her eyes glance upward toward the sky and she takes in the array of stars and light of the Crescent moon. Hovering by the docks until the small light of her mother’s boat dies out, Betty swims away and feels the grappling hook of isolation take hold of her.

She swims deep into the depths, into her lonely world of black abyss. And when the next new moon comes, she won’t worry how to find her way back.

The Lighthouse has always guided her home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoy! please like and leave comments, i'm kind of a whore for them xo
> 
> ubeta'd

 

 

> ▱◯♕

Jughead wakes to Woodstock’s singing and groans into the fleece of the blankets surrounding him, not at all eager to start the day.

He lifts his phone and notices the time being a little earlier than normal to wake up. Downstairs, Woodstock continues to chirp noisily, no doubt demanding food as he sings a silent _fuck you and your sleep!_ As Jughead slips out of bed, he rubs the grit from his eyes and walks to the tiny bathroom attached to his room to relieve himself before debating on whether he needs a shower or not. Lifting his arm, he sniffs and exhales tiredly. Definitely time for a shower. Especially since he wouldn’t be the only person working in his workshop today.  

Pulling his shirt off, he removes the rest of his clothing and jumps into the shower, pressing one hand against the tile as he leans forward to let the hot water pelt down over his hair and back. He stares blankly at the grout as he stands, his mind blank as another mundane task passes with no thought at all. When foam falls in a swirl down his leg, leaving trails against the floor and into the drain, it doesn’t escape his thoughts on how routine his life is. 

He shuts the tap off quickly and dresses in record time, not bothering with picking up the strewn clothing on the ground. Pulling the ladder down that leads to the lamp room, he moves up and makes quick work of putting the light out before stepping out into the small circular deck overlooking the ocean and town.

The sun hasn’t risen, but he sees the way the darkened sky sparkles in the waves. He thinks he can see the fins of dolphins far off in the distance, swimming in their pods. The thought of such loyal creatures, sticking together with their families brings only a slight sting to his chest as memories of his own are brought up. In mere minutes, the sun rises, and the view is nothing short of spectacular. The sound of a car rolling up to his property diverts his attention and he walks around the small deck to see a familiar little blue hatchback park haphazardly near his pottery workshop.

He doesn’t wait to see the driver—already knowing—and hurries down to help out. By the time he’s out in his lawn, the familiar pink hair streaked woman has already taken the wheelchair out the back of her car and ditched one of her crutches to try and unfold it.

“Here, let me help.” He walks forward before she’s waving him off, snapping the bedazzled pink wheelchair open with a practiced thrust of her arm.

“You can help by getting the breakfast from the passenger’s seat.” She gives a smile before tossing her crutches in the car and snapping the hatch shut.

Jughead’s ears perk at the word ‘breakfast’ and he moves around the car quickly to retrieved a grease soaked bag from the front seat and the two large cups in the drink carrier beside it. He moans appreciatively at the smell of sausage and coffee. “Harper, you’re a godsend.”

“Don’t try and sweet talk me, Jones.” She quips, rolling herself near the workshop just beside the lighthouse. “You know I have a boyfriend.”

Jughead snorts and unlocks the door before they trail in, setting their things on the circular table at the far end next to the large window facing the ocean. He turns a couple lamps on for extra lighting and kicks his feet up on pile of cinderblocks stacked as makeshift surface space for painting supplies. “What? The catalogues model? You’re still talking to that meathead?”

“His name is _Reggie_.” Harper replies defensively, throwing a balled up napkin at his face. “And yes, we’re dating. He’s actually very sweet—”

“His Instagram is literally just him shirtless. In _every_ picture.”

Harper raises a brow and smirks. “You checked his Instagram?”

Damn. Jughead takes a bite of food to buy time for an excuse that isn’t as lame as literally having nothing better to do than browse other people’s social media. She chuckles as he frowns through the chewing of his sausage and egg sandwich. “I was bored.”

“You sure you weren’t just being protective of your dearest friend?” Harper places a hand over her chest, fluttering her lashes dramatically as if flattered, but obviously adding a flare of dramatization for the banter. “Why, Jughead Jones, you are the sweetest man alive—

“Oh, my god. Shut up.” He throws the balled up napkin back at her, the little paper ball bouncing off her glasses and landing in her coffee. Harper merely laughs and plucks it out before taking a drink.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about him for long.” She tells him sounding nonchalant, though he can see the glint of sadness in her eyes.

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

Harper shrugs and traces the rim of her cup, avoiding his gaze as she feigns indifference. “We’ve only talked through FaceTime, and he wants to come down and meet for New Year’s.”

Jughead’s confused as he takes another bite of food. “…And that’s bad?”

She gives a dry look before bringing the coffee cup to her lips. “Believe it or not Jug, I’m not really a lot of guys’ _type_.” When she taps her left wheel pointedly, Jughead’s frown deepens, but she continues. “He only knows the interesting things—you know, the online clothing shop I run, and the relation to my famous supermodel cousin. I doubt he’s really interested in _me_.”

“Okay, now he _really_ sounds like a meathead." Jughead loses the teasing and speaks candidly. "Why don’t you cut him loose?”

“I… He’s actually really nice." she says, and Jughead swears he will never understand the complexities of the female mind. "I want to revel in it while I can. You know, before he sees me in person and decides we're better off as 'friends'.”

Jughead scoffs and stands up, clearing the table and tossing their trash away. “If I ever fall victim to the nuisances of dating life, shoot me. By the way, if he decides you’re not his _type_ , he’s an idiot. You're pretty, smart and funny. I think that fits into pretty much all generic realms of people's type.”

Harper tilts her head and clasps her hands together, her mood lifted by the genuinity of his voice. “Aw, Jugs, you _do_ care.” She teases, though there's a glint of appreciation to his words in her eyes.

“Only because you bring me food.” He jokes with a straight face, setting up his space to begin his sculpting. He gives her the barest hint of a smile when she laughs, knowing his humor by now not to take his wry responses to heart.

They work for the rest of the morning in some stretches of compatible silences and idle chatter, but it’s comfortable. He sculpts what he can as Harper finishes painting an array of dishes and vases. They’re all so beautiful, and definitely the second most popular pieces he makes sales off of. People here like to support local work, and for that he’s grateful. When Harper leaves some time after three, Jughead stays in his workshop for another hour more before Hot Dog is whining at the door, scratching against the wood and demanding attention.

He closes shop for the day and walks outside, crouching beside the hairy dog and roughhousing with him right there on the grass for a bit before Hot Dog is running in circles with his tongue out, hyped and energized by the playing. He barks and takes off to the small little dock outside his home before he’s jumping into the tiny little motorboat tied to it.

“What? You wanna go for a ride?” he asks, walking toward the edge of his yard as he stares at the animal. Hot Dog barks in reply and Jughead grins before locking the door to his home and fixing the beanie atop his head. “Alright, alright.”

It’s in these moments that Jughead can manage to forget the parts of his life that keep him under a fog of black. Moments like being a grain of sand in the middle of this vast, deep blue sea. He feels his chest constrict when fins move in tandem with his boat and he looks down to see a pod of dolphins swimming alongside them. He takes his hand off the steering and waits to see if one will come up past the surface.

His patience is rewarded when a slick bottle-nose pokes out from the water. Hot Dog leans precariously over the edge of the boat and licks at the rubbery nose before it squeaks and dives back into the sea to follow its family. He rubs at Hot Dog’s back when he whines anxiously, waiting for the dolphin to pop out again as Jughead steers the boat toward the secluded cave.

“It’s okay, boy.” He tells Hot Dog as the animal continues to whine and search the rippling waters beneath. “How about we collect some shells, huh? Your heart will love another in time.”

He’s never gone past morning time to the cave, so he doesn’t know if the tide is high enough to push the beautiful pieces up to the small shore inside it, but he’s already out here, so why not? The cave’s walls and jagged rocks glint as if there’s a million flecks of diamonds splashed over them—but really, Jughead knows it’s just the reflection of the waters and mist playing off one other and the small sunlight filtering through. He parks the boat against the sandy dry area and takes his shoes off and rolls his pantlegs up before hopping out. With a grunt, he pulls the boat higher in the sand, just to make sure it won’t go floating away while he searches.

Hot Dog jumps out and begins to sniff around.

Unfortunately, there’s not many shells around, but Jughead isn't disappointed. The beauty in the trip is worth the time taken out of his day to check it. Then, he hears something. A splash behind a large rock sticking up from the waters in the center of this large cavern. He swears he'd heard a gasp, almost like that of a woman, accompanied with the sound, but it couldn’t have been. He hadn’t seen anyone when coming in with his boat. Unless someone was stranded?

The thought makes his stomach turn and he takes a step forward, trying to catch a glimpse at what’s behind the rock. “Hello? Anyone there?”

Then, his eyes widen when he hears the small _blip_ of water. As if something had just submerged itself. Curiosity gets the better of him and his eyes trail the precarious trail of rocks placed in all angles of the cave before his feet follow. He tries to be careful this time, thinking of the now scabbing injury still at the sole of his foot. When he hears another sound, like something resurfacing, he knows he’s not imagining it because now Hot Dog’s barking, looking in the direction he’s trying reach.

“What the…” Jughead thinks he sees… _hair_? Under the water, just the fastest movement of blonde? A sick feeling rises in his stomach, his first thought jumping to the conclusion of some sick fuck dumping a body out here—however, it’s all he gets out before the rocks get their second strike against him. There’s a sharp pain across his heel as he loses balance on the slicked surface and there's only his gasp to ring in his ears as his head collides with something sharp and his body falls into the water below.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd 
> 
> Please forgive my slow updates, I'm going through some stuff in my personal life and hope you all understand that churning out these fics is just not at the top of my priority... at least, not now anyway. I still love and appreciate you guys and your support, but I ask you be patient with me. I just have to put my health first. Thanks again, loves xo
> 
>  
> 
> [Check the amazing book covers that the lovely thejugtoyourbetts created!](https://thejugtoyourbetts.tumblr.com/post/165709945176/under-a-new-moon-covers)
> 
>  
> 
> [And you absolutely NEED to see the amazing artwork done by birdlovesafish bc that shit is amaaazing!](http://birdlovesafish.tumblr.com/post/165656983224/i-really-love-lusterrdust-s-new-story-under-a)

 

 

> ▱◯♕

She knew she’d been risking a lot keeping close to the port. She _knew_ she should’ve listened to her gut and stayed far, far away.

“No, no! Don’t die, please!”

It wasn’t as if she’d expected there to be someone in her cave—well, not _her_ cave, but… in all the years here, no one had ever discovered this little oasis she’d frequent just to feel the warmth of sand on her back or be near her home like she so desperately wished to be. On this particular day, Betty blames her obsession with keeping a link to her life on land by collecting things lost or forgotten from the ocean’s floor for getting her into this situation.

Situation being, her arms lugging an unconscious man from water onto the cave’s small strip of sandy shore. Betty recognizes him as the grumpy coffee man she’d seen her last time on land—not by his face particularily (though she can’t help but admire the handsome features), but by the huge dog that runs up to her and tries to slobber all over her cheeks.

“Down boy!” she chides the dog softly, looking back down to the man and pushing his sopping black hair from his eyes. There’s no blood… which is good. But there will definitely be a good sized knot if the way his face had scrunched in pain before he fell into the water is any indication.

Water drips from Betty’s hairline down between her brows until a small waterdrop collects at the tip of her nose. She turns, looking over her shoulder in paranoia for anyone that may have accompanied this strange man here, but there’s no sound but her own harsh breathing. The air stings her lungs slightly, and she truthfully debates leaving him there before the irritatingly persistent urge to do the right thing anchors her ass—er _, tail_ —to sit on the sand and bend over his form.

Her ear presses against his chest as she tries to listen for a heartbeat, and she tries to ignore the rush of emotion the touch of his skin against her own brings froth. It’s been so long since she’s been this close to anyone who isn’t her mother, and the aching black hole of her loneliness in this form wants to grip him by the waist and drag him back down to the sea to keep him there with her—but she pushes that urge away, gripping tightly to her human morals and logic.  

By instinct, her high school lifeguard training comes into play, and Betty interlocks her fingers before pressing the heel of her palms into his chest, starting CPR.

“Come on, come on.” She whispers, tilting his head back and parting his lips until she breathes into his mouth before repeating the process. She frantically hums the _Bee Gees_ to keep her on pace and finally, as she’s about to give up, the man gasps and turns over on his side before coughing up the heaps of the water he’d swallowed.

Betty’s frozen for a moment, staring at him and fighting that unfamiliar call to once again seize him for good before she’s mentally slapping herself and pushing across the sand toward the water. Oh god, she hadn’t thought about him waking up and seeing her! She’d been so focused on just keeping him alive that the idea about the _after_ hadn’t even registered until his eyes—so conflicting of colors blue and gray—flickered onto her.

His eyes snap to her just as she dives back into the water, and she hears one raspy “ _Wait_!” before she’s hightailing it out of the cave. Her fingers press into lips as she whistles, the sound so much different than if it were on land, before she shouts out into the abyss. “Queenie!”

Not a minute later does a small bottlenose dolphin appear in the distance, her fin pushing her closer and closer until the two meet in the middle. Betty wraps herself around the slippery fin, rubbing her hand over its head. “Take me home, Queenie. Quickly!”

The dolphin trills before nodding as if she understands her, and they’re off.

When Betty finally reaches her ‘home’, a sunken boat not far from the port, but deep enough to not be seen by humans, she runs her hands over Queenie’s nose appreciatively. “Thanks, girl.”

The dolphin brushes the tip of its nose against her cheek before swimming off.

She’s no animal whisperer, but Betty is glad to have some type of support out here in the water. Saving the baby dolphin from a fisherman’s net nearly a year back had garnered her the acceptance from the local pod family, and while she hadn’t acquired a cool superpower like speaking with animals to go with this unsavory curse forced onto her, she knows gratitude is a language all its own.

The pod accepts her company and answers to her call, and for Betty, that in itself is a spectacular sort of miracle.

Looking up, she bites her lip and contemplates swimming to the surface for a moment before actually doing it. Her eyes peek out from the still water, moving toward the outline of the small port city where the dim glow of its lights shine beautifully in contrast to the night’s sky. Her heart clenches in her chest and there’s a phantom feeling of her legs as her tail flickers beneath the water.

She wants to cry, but she can’t.

Instead Betty’s eyes trail to the beacon of light coming from the lighthouse. She wishes she could respond to its calling of guiding her home; the promise of land for those still out at sea trying to get back to their loved ones. Betty clenches her teeth and swallows the knot in her throat before giving one last look to the port and diving back into the water.

Everything about the day comes crashing onto her suddenly and she’s digging her nails into her palms to calm down.

 

The boat she lives in is small—just the right size to keep sharks and any other bigger dangers out. A few different groups of fish scatter at her entrance, but she’s not bothered. Instead Betty swims over to the dingy makeshift mattress she’d made years prior and curls in onto herself. She’d like to say sleep would help alleviate her anxiety at the damage she may have just permanently conflicted upon herself this trip to the shore today, but like everything else, sleep is different in the water—in this form.

It’s not restful, just necessary.

Betty just knows she’ll be getting a visit soon from one of her… _sisters_. Mysterious and disapproving of her solo excursions, they always seem to know when she’s gotten herself into a precarious situation. Maybe she’ll just lie. There’s no proof anyone saw her, least of all that man. He fell, hit his head and had some crazy hallucination.

It’s not that farfetched.

She hasn’t subjected their kind to any more danger than they’ve already been in. Except… maybe she’s a little bit at fault. If not for her attempt at saving a human man today, then definitely for her many trips to the port where she must’ve been spotted at some point to prompt a prize for pictures at her existence.

Betty groans into her arms and rolls over, flicking her tail in irritation to the coarse her thoughts are carrying her through. What if the man didn’t even make it? What if she’d just left and he’d died there on the shore?

Betty’s eyes widen as panic seizes her heart. Oh god, she hadn’t even thought of that.

What then? What would happen?

Her nails dig into her palms as she clenches her eyes shut and tries to calm her erratic heartbeat. “Shut up!” she yells to no one but herself. A few small fish scurry off at the exclamation, but she doesn’t care.

No, the man isn’t dead. He couldn’t… she’d given him CPR… she’d _seen_ him wake up. He’s probably fine. Disoriented, perhaps, but fine.

It’s then that Betty sits up with a sharp gasp, her hands splayed out against the blankets as she floats upward, scanning the interior of her sunken boat for the bag of collectables she’d been toting around before playing _Baywatch_. “Oh, shi—oh, _fuck_!” she swims around the small space frantically, searching for it for a second time before the fear gripping realization sinks in…

Her hands dig into her hair, panic bubbling beneath her breast. “Oh god, _oh god!”_

She’d left it on the shore… next to the man.

 _Fuck_!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd - sorry for any typos
> 
> i seriously need to go to bed lol but yay, we're getting closer to bughead interaction!

> ▱◯♕

“I’m not crazy.”

Okay. Maybe he’s a _little_ crazy.

He’s talking to a bird and a dog, after all. But that’s not why Jughead’s been scouring to make sense of what he’s seen and what he _thinks_ he’s seen. Because, he _had_ seen what he saw…right? He’d seen a… a merm— _no_.

Nope. No.

He’s not even going to say the word in his mind.

…But he had, hadn’t he?

No.

Lifting his arm up, he stares at the tote hanging by his kitchen window. After his incident two days prior, and a quick stop into the walk-in clinic, Jughead would have believed he’d suffered some concussion-induced hallucination for the merm—for _it_ —but then he had to go on and discover the mysterious bag of bizarre items.

A cracked compass, an old silver handled hairbrush, an array of jewelry and a spatula. That’s what he’d found inside the bag.

He’d spent the better part of the day before trying to make sense of them—to find a connection between the items, but nothing. Absolutely _nothing_ made sense. And then he’d begun to wonder if what he saw was real… if he’d actually seen that… that…

Hot Dog jumps up onto the couch then, and more specifically, onto Jughead’s stomach. It breaks him from his thoughts as he lifts a bag of frozen pineapple from the tender spot on his head. Tail wagging lazily, Hot Dog pants happily and lays his large paws over his chest.

“I’m not crazy, right buddy?” Jughead questions quietly, reaching his free hand forward to scratch the pooch behind his ears. “You saw her too? Saw _it_?”

Woodstock flitters from his perched position from the edge of the couch and settles on the top of Hot Dog’s head before Jughead addresses him as well. “You believe me too, don’t you?”

Who is he kidding? No. No way had he seen a mermaid. They simply don’t exist. They’re a work of _fiction_!

But then… how would that explain the girl? The mysterious bag? The peculiar items? The rescuing of him off that sandy shore? Jughead’s almost certain he’d be ten feet under right now if whoever that was hadn’t acted fast.

Pushing himself off the couch, he walks over to the sink and stares at the bag. It’s a small tote, nothing spectacular. With blue beading on the side, displaying a small corner of stars, he lets a finger run over them and the initials within them.

_B.C._

Interesting, indeed.

“I’m not crazy.” He repeats to his pets before slinging a sweater on and heading downstairs to open up shop.

… … …

He’s crazy.

Locking the door behind him, Jughead wonders what exactly is going through his mind as he finishes up closing shop early—to take a trip to the small cave.

“Stop looking at me like that.” He grunts out to Hot Dog as the animal sits with a blank face on the boat.

Sure, it’s not exactly sane behavior to constantly be traveling to the spot—mermaid hunting.

 _Jesus_.

Even thinking it makes him want to cruise into the town’s therapists office.

The water is still for the most part when he reaches the small alcove, quiet and glittering among the damp rocks. Pulling up to the shore, he drags his boat up the sand and plops himself down. Leaning onto his knees, Jughead wonders what in the hell he’s doing. _Honestly_.

Still… he can’t bring himself to—

Something ruffles in the water then, sending his heart straight up into his throat as the words and thoughts he’d been thinking freeze in his mind. He shoots up from his spot, stumbling slightly onto his feet. He may have believed he’d been hearing things if not for Hot Dog’s reaction.

His animal bounds over to the water, sticking his paws and nose underwater slightly until lifting them back up and barking in a playful manner at something just _not_ there.

“What is it, boy?” Jughead moves to the edge of the shore, peering down. “Do you see something?”

It’s nothing but dark water.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

It becomes something of an obsession, he’ll admit. Maybe for his own peace of mind—to convince himself that what he saw wasn’t what he saw. Or was… And maybe the bag is just something he’d overlooked. Maybe all this time he’s really fretting over someone’s lost property.

So, Jughead goes home.

And from then on in, it’s back to regular routine. Right up until a month later, that is. When the incident is pushed down and tucked away in his mind for the most part.

But one evening… one evening, he’s on the lighthouse’s deck eating his dinner when he sees it—a sailboat drifting from the area of the cave, moving into Port until it’s settled at the nearby docks.

Wasting no time, Jughead finishes his meal and adjusts his beanie before nearly flying down the spiral staircase of his home as he rushes to get to his boat.

A crescent moon hangs in the sky brightly, its glow reflecting off the water in a beautiful image. It’s too late to be out, he knows this. The alcove is no doubt pitch black—maybe brightened just a bit with the moonlight, but for the most part, it must be near impossible to see anything.

Lifting his removeable seat, Jughead grabs a waterproof flashlight from its built in cubby and points it forward, wondering why on earth a boat would be leaving his cave. And more importantly, why on earth he’s compelled to be out there at all!

Approaching the area, he pauses, his heart hammering when the sound of low moaning reaches his ears. It’s an eerie sound, almost sad. But not quite crying. Turning the flashlight over the crevices of the jagged rocks, Jughead feels his shoulders slump in disappointment. For what, he doesn’t quite know.

But then— _there_!

He shines his light over a corner and there’s a splash of… _of_ …

…something green. Something scaled.

“What the…”

The rest of the words die on his tongue as a head pops out from the water just beside his boat, and he’s embarrassed to admit the yell that rips from his throat is high in pitch. When two hands grip the edge, tipping it, Jughead stumbles once before toppling into the ice-cold water below.

Flashlight still on and clenched in his frozen grip, Jughead’s eyes widen in terror at the way it casts a light over the image that’s been haunting his mind for weeks now. More frightening, it shines just bright enough under the water for him to make out a pair of blue eyes glaring viciously at him.

He opens his mouth to cry out.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to see pictures that are inspiring to my fics and writing, follow my [Pinterest](http://pin.it/JHK1lEb) account and view each story's board.


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